


Something More Than Nothing

by imagymnasia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And a little humor, Fluff, Gen, Hilda is actually vulnerable for once look at that, Holst is the only brother in this game that didn't mess someone up, Zine: Guardian - A Family-focused FE3H Zine, this got trimmed SO MUCH but I'm still happy with it, we need more Goneril sibs content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:33:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagymnasia/pseuds/imagymnasia
Summary: Written for the Guardian Zine in support of the charity Families Forward.It had been three weeks since the fight with Nemesis, and Holst Goneril, famed general of the Alliance and Protector of Fódlan, was bored. He should have been grateful: he was alive, and his strength was returning, little by little. Still, it would be a long time before he could hold an axe again. He could barely hold a quill.Not that it mattered. There was little news from home since the tentative alliance with Almyra and none from his sister. Holst had scarce heard from her in a month—not that he was worried. Nemesis was gone, and Fódlan had been saved. She was in no immediate danger, certainly...A knock interrupted his thoughts. Holst sighed. “Enter.”The door opened and Holst could smell wildflowers. The scent came from a basket seated in the crook of his visitor’s arm: not one of his healers, but a young woman with long hair, pink as the dawn.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Holst Goneril
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Something More Than Nothing

It had been three weeks since the fight with Nemesis, and Holst Goneril, famed general of the Alliance and Protector of Fódlan, was _bored_. He should have been grateful: he was alive, and his strength was returning, little by little. Still, it would be a long time before he could hold an axe again. He could barely hold a quill.

Not that it mattered. There was little news from home since the tentative alliance with Almyra and none from his sister. Holst had scarce heard from her in a month—not that he was _worried_. Nemesis was gone, and Fódlan had been saved. She was in no immediate danger, certainly...

A knock interrupted his thoughts. Holst sighed. “Enter.”

The door opened and Holst could smell wildflowers. The scent came from a basket seated in the crook of his visitor’s arm: not one of his healers, but a young woman with long hair, pink as the dawn.

“I come all this way and that’s my hello?”

“Hilda! My dear, sweet sister!” For a moment Holst could barely contain his smile. Then it turned into the patented Goneril Pout—which he had invented but she perfected. “Do you know how long it’s been since your last letter?”

Hilda slumped on the edge of his bed. “Holst, you are _killing me_. I’m a very busy woman, you know! Lots to do at the new capital.” That was news to Holst, but Hilda could sense his growing intrigue and groaned. “I’m not here to talk _politics_ ,” she said. “I’m here to see you.”

Fair enough. “Are the flowers for me?”

“They are for us,” Hilda corrected. “Now scoot over.” She settled beside him, one leg dangling over the side of the bed and jostling him; the pain must have been evident, because Hilda froze. “Sorry,” she said, voice small. “I forgot.”

Holst had already forgiven her. His sister nestled into his side, movements careful, and leaned her head against his shoulder. From this angle, he couldn’t see her face. “I didn’t really forget,” she said after a moment. “I just didn’t want to think about it.”

Holst pulled her close, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way his muscles twitched. “Hilda,” he whispered into her hair, “you can’t make things go away by not thinking about them.”

“I can try.” Hilda took his hand in hers, fingertips calloused like his own. “Ew. Your nails are _horrid_.”

Holst rolled his eyes. “Need I remind you that I am a casualty of war?”

“No excuse!” But she didn’t let go. “You know, even though you’re a tyrant of a brother, I always thought pretty highly of you. The great General Holst of the Alliance! You were pretty insufferable, though. Really puffed up about it.”

Holst began to protest, but Hilda’s laughter rolled right over him. “Anyway, everyone always talked about you like you were this unstoppable force. You were brilliant and strong and _invincible_ and—” She faltered, smile fading. “And then I almost lost you.”

A knot of shame settled in his stomach, but she squeezed his hand and the feeling abated. “I wanted to come see you as soon as I heard, but…” Hilda sat up with a glare. “Do you know what I did?”

Holst smiled. “You stayed.”

She threw up her hands. “I _stayed!_ And do you know what else? I wasn’t afraid. I just did what needed doing, and everything turned out okay.” She leaned against him again, arms crossed. “I’m turning into you.”

“Maybe,” he laughed. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Do you know,” he asked, “what I think about when I’m fighting?”

Hilda snorted. “Fame and glory?”

“You.”

It had always been. Every battle he had fought for Fódlan, he had fought for her. Now she was the one protecting him—protecting Fódlan, with Claude and the others by her side. Where he had failed, she had carried on, head held high.

“But look at you! You don’t need my protection—you never did.” He brushed back her hair, his smile softening the battle-hardened lines of his face. “You helped create a whole new Fódlan, Hilda love, and I am so, so proud of you.”

“Aw,” and Hilda sniffled, hiding her eyes in her sleeve. “Cut it out, Holst. I hardly did anything.”

“You saved the world. That’s not nothing.”

Hilda hugged him, murmuring a soft _thank you_ and burying her face in his shirt. Holst kissed her hair, let her sniffle into his chest as if they were children again. When she finally pulled away, Hilda scrunched her nose.

“I _hate_ crying,” she whined. “I’m sure I look a mess…” As Hilda began to collect herself, his gaze drifted toward the basket of flowers.

“You never did tell me what those were for,” and Hilda, happy for the change of subject, grinned.

“Flower crowns,” she said. Holst began to laugh. “What? If I’m going to be staying here, I refuse to be bored. Just because you’re stuck here looking like that crusty old man—”

“Crusty old man?” Holst squawked, horrified, but Hilda was already twining stems between deft fingers.

“You’re in desperate need of a shave.” Hilda paused. “And a bath.”

“Hilda,” he said, “you can’t really think I look like that Nemesis— _Hilda!”_ But she had resumed her work, humming behind a smug smile. Holst flopped against the pillows, resigned; and if, later, he drifted to sleep with a ring of violets upon his head and her warmth pressed against his side, he had no real complaints.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all who supported the zine and Families Forward, and thank you for reading! As always, you can find me on twitter @imagymnasia.


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